


Bound in ink

by Lieju



Category: Gaston (Bande Dessinée)
Genre: M/M, Witches, the ink prunelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lieju/pseuds/Lieju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been decades since Jeanne had seen Gaston Lagaffe when she got the letter asking her to visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound in ink

Jeanne exited the taxi, still nimble despite her advanced years.

 

Well, maybe she wasn't as young as she once had been, but she hadn't hesitated to take this trip. It had been years, no, decades, since she had heard of Gaston Lagaffe, and when she had received the letter asking her to visit, her curiosity had been piqued.

 

She stopped to take in her surroundings. The house was on a remote location, but seemed well cared for.

 

She rang the doorbell.

 

And when it was opened she suddenly felt like eighteen again.

”Mr. Prunelle!”

 

There he was, standing in the doorway, wearing a black suit.

And not a day older than the last time she had seen him all those decades ago.

 

She shook her head. ”You can't actually be-” This must have been his son. She stopped to think. Maybe even grandson?

 

He nodded, with a slight smile. ”Jeanne. It has been a while. Please, come in.”

 

She stepped in.

”You- Are you actually _that_ Mr. Prunelle?”

 

He nodded.

 

”Are you a vampire?”

 

He was certainly pale enough.

 

”What? No. Although I guess that isn't _too_ far from the truth.”

 

She stepped back, so he hurried to assure her: ”I'm not going to hurt you, Jeanne. And I'm not a vampire, I just never got a hang of colours, or aging my human form.”

 

”Human _form_? When you're not being human, what _are_ you, then?”

 

”A raven, quite often. Sometimes a cat. These days, Gaston prefers that for a lot of the time.”

 

”How's Gaston? Is he a-”

 

”Gaston is human, if that's what you're asking. And he is... He won't be- There isn't much time. And he wanted to talk to you. I have to warn you, these days he is mostly living in the past, so don't be surprised if he thinks you still work together, or if he doesn't recognize you.”

 

Jeanne nodded. ”My husband, he was the same when...”

 

”I didn't think- So you know how it feels.”

 

If she had been scared of him before, that eased her mind. He sounded genuinely sad.

Genuinely human.

Jeanne wanted to ask more about their relationship, and about what he was, but before she could figure out how to approach the subject, she was ushered into another room.

 

She stopped at the door.

 

Prunelle walked to the figure sitting in a wheelchair, gently rousing the sleeping man. ”Gaston.”

 

”Prunelle? The mail is-”

 

”The mail doesn't matter. There's someone to see you.”

He walked to Jeanne. ”I'll leave you two alone. I'll be in the next room if you'll need me.”

 

”Miss Jeanne?”

 

Jeanne smiled. ”Yes.”

 

Gaston looked confused. ”There was something...”

 

Jeanne was just wondering how to continue the conversation, when he spoke again.

”I have done something horrible.”

 

”I'm sure it wasn't-”

 

”I did that to him.” He looked confused again. ”Jeanne? I'm not sure why I wanted to ask you- This is something Fantasio would probably know.”

 

Jeanne nodded, not mentioning that Fantasio had passed away years ago.

 

”Maybe I should tell him?” she suggested.

 

”I killed him.”

 

”Who?”

 

”Prunelle. I killed him. I'm so sorry...”

 

”He's fine.” Although not necessarily _alive._

But she was curious. ”What happened to Mr. Prunelle?”

 

”He is so small. Where is he, Miss Jeanne?” He started to panic. ”I needed to-”

 

”I'll ask him to come.”

 

”No, I was... There was a reason I needed to talk to you.” He grasped her hand. ”Can you take care of him, when I'm gone?” he pleaded. ”It was my fault.”

 

Prunelle dashed in. ”Gaston, are you all right?”

 

He let go of her hand, a different look in his eyes.

”Léon?”

 

Prunelle smiled, and reached to a kiss that Gaston eagerly returned.

”Léon? You're fine?”

He nodded.

 

Gaston slumped back, closing his eyes. ”I'm just so tired...”

 

* * *

 

 

”I didn't understand what he was saying. He told me he killed you. And that he was sorry.”

 

Prunelle shook his head. ”He is still feeling guilt over it? Something that happened over 60 years ago? Although I probably shouldn't be surprised, what with his memory. And the fact that I look the same doesn't exactly help him not to confuse the past with the present.”

 

”I think he asked me to take care of you.”

 

He smiled. ”What? Don't worry about that.” He gestured vaguely. ”I'm not in any hurry to replace him. If that is even possible. Sorry, would you like to sit down?”

 

Jeanne nodded. ”I'm not as young as I used to be.”

 

Prunelle led her to a living room and as soon as she has sat down, he told her:

”I did die. Over 60 years ago.”

 

”How?”

 

” _How_ isn't important.”

 

Jeanne had a fairly good idea however, wondering what kind of accident it had been.

 

”But you can guess Gaston thought it was his fault. So... He did something unbelievable.”

 

”He brought you back.”

 

”In a manner of speaking. Even I don't know much of this, and it seems to be forgotten or at least hidden knowledge. You know the idea of witches and their familiars?”

 

”Old ladies with black cats?”

 

”Something like that. A familiar is a creature, an animal, a spirit or a demon, that's bound to the witch via a contract of a sort.”

 

”Gaston is a _witch_?”

 

”Who knows? He has never shown any supernatural talent beyond what he did then. Except maybe in his skill to create explosions... And he knew nothing about it. He did what he did on instinct alone.”

 

He looked at Jeanne.

”He pulled me back. Maybe I wasn't completely gone, I can't remember anything about it, no life flashing before my eyes, no tunnel of light. All I know is he took my soul and bound it to ink and his own blood. He was bleeding himself at the time. The idiot.

“The first thing I remember upon waking up is him smiling, relieved I was alive. I would have called for an ambulance, but at the time I was too weak to do anything. Although it would have been somewhat troublesome in hindsight if the ambulance would have come, and my body was found. Well, what was left of it.

“It's not important.”

 

Jeanne tried to think back to 60 years ago.

”I don't remember hearing you died.”

 

”Gaston called Fantasio, he helped to cover it up. Officially I left for another job. Less officially, I moved in with Gaston. I was weak back then, and unable to take anything near a human form. Most I did was a little shadow or a silhouette, tiny enough to fit on his palm. And I was less than enthusiastic about the fact that my life was bound to Gaston.”

 

He smiled.

”But he fed me. With his blood, and ink, and his love. And I got stronger, little by little. But it was difficult, and eventually, as you know, he left his job, took me with him, and, well, we travelled. And we became... Hm, I won't bore you with the details, but it was a relief when I became strong and skilled enough to take a form like this, because I could give him those kinds of things more easily...”

 

He trailed off.

 

”Why are you telling me all this?”

 

”It doesn't matter anymore,” Prunelle told him. ”Soon, when he will be...”

 

”What will happen to you?”

 

”I'll be gone, one way or another. I'm not sure what will happen to me. Will I die? Can I die? Do I even have a soul anymore? I would like to ask you for a favour, though.”

 

”What?”

 

”Can you come to his funeral? There aren't many friends from the old days left, although he kept making new ones, so it's not like it will be a, you know, just you.”

 

”Yes. ”Jeanne broke down in tears. ”Sorry, it's just-”

 

To her surprise, he embraced her. ”Don't be sorry. I think it's in a way nice that someone will cry for him. I haven't been able to do that for over half a century.”

 

Jeanne noticed he smelled like ink.

 

* * *

 

 

Week later, Jeanne got a message that Gaston had died.

 

She travelled back to the house, stepping inside. ”Mr. Prunelle?” This was something she had to know before the funeral.

 

She heard footsteps, but it was not him. ”Are you looking for someone?”

 

She gave a nod to the young man. ”Yes. The man who used to live here.”

 

”I can't help you with that. I'm the attorney Mr. Prunelle hired before Mr. Lagaffe's death to take care of his business once he was gone. He left, and I think he was just an aide or a caretaker, since the whole inheritance went to charity.”

 

She nodded, wondering.

 

Wondering if Prunelle was still around.

 

And wondering if the old story her mother had told her of witches was true.

 

She stepped to the sunshine, startling a black shape that seemed to be a bird.

Maybe it was a raven.

 

”Mr. Prunelle?”

 

No answer.

So, at the very least he didn't want to talk. But why would he? They had said their goodbyes.

 

But Jeanne wondered if the old story she had remembered was true.

 

That the price the witch paid for bonding a demon was their soul, and that when they died, the demon would claim it as payment.

 

The story had been told as a horror tale, a warning not to dabble in dark arts.

 

But as she stood there in the sunshine, all she could think was that if it was true, Gaston's soul was in good hands.

 


End file.
